


Festive Red in Ilvermorny Fashion

by snarry_splitpea



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Play, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarry_splitpea/pseuds/snarry_splitpea
Summary: Based a prompt I got from Brittlelimbs around Xmas time, a delightful Gravebone Spanking!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brittlelimbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlelimbs/gifts).



> In case you read the original on my blog, I just wanna let you know this is a bit different

_Your castle walls, they kept us safe._  
_The days with you, a dream_  
_You taught us all our magic  
_ _And now one thing's quite clear_

 _Where'er we roam_ _  
_ _...Our one true home_

_...Is Ilvermorny dear!_

* * *

 

 

Credence enjoyed saying “No.”

Shouted it from between his own kneecaps when Graves had him on his back in the armchair. Screamed it into his bath water when Graves bent him over the side of the tub.  He'd never been allowed it in his youth and the idea that he could say it whenever he wanted to was invigorating.  Like a baby that had only just learned the word.

"No."

Smiling, Credence whispered it into his cocoa as Graves looked up at him from the rug on the floor.

“Oh, really?” Graves asked, before reaching over to their low-sitting coffee table and picking up his tumblr of whiskey. The little smile on his face made Credence want to kiss him. The boy often did.  Percival sipped from it before sitting the glass back down and continuing. “I’ve never seen such a slutty boy turn down an offer of cock.”  
  
Trying to hide his smile behind the mug and the sleeve of his oversized Christmas sweater, Credence rested his elbows on crossed legs. He looked down from the hulking chair he sat on to the beautiful man perched on the rug beneath him. “Mister Graves, you know I hate it when you speak crudely, to me.”

The gasping tones of a scandalized alter boy.

Apparently, neither of them could hide their laughter. It showed in their eyes.  Vibrated along their vocal cords.  This was almost as bad as the first time Credence needed to use his safe word.  One of the scarves holding him to Percival’s four-poster bed had managed to tighten during play and he’d yelled out “Niffler Horde!” so Percival would immediately untie him.  The rest of their night had devolved into giggles and jests about choosing a less hilarious phrase.  They never had. 

Credence still remembered the exhausting laughter they’d shared as Graves held a cool, wet rag to his sprained wrist. How the man had called him brave and apologized about a million times as he cast spells to counter the swelling and the pain.  
  
“Am I meant to believe that?” Graves asked, his own smile growing as he pushed himself up onto his knees. The firelight danced along his bare torso and Credence could see the sheen of sweat along the older man's skin.  Would Graves want to leave the room and cool down?  Did he want to get Credence all hot and sweaty, too? 

Credence, pantless and draped in a sweater that was even too large on his boyfriend’s sturdy body, looked delectable curled up in the armchair.  Graves eyed him with a playful sort of lust and imagined what it would be like to suck the chocolate from the boy’s tongue.

Graves, topless and in a pair of old long-johns, crossed the floor in an awkward scooting sort of motion. One knee dragging past the other instead of him pulling up to stand. Credence chuckled at the image.  Again, holding the mug over his face. “No, I love it when you curse.  Say ‘cock’ again, Percy.”  
  
Graves made it to the chair and pressed his hands onto Credence’s bare thighs.  One hand still holding his mug, Credence used the other to pull the sweater down over his naked crotch.  The modesty a habit more than a need.  
  
“In the last two minutes, you’ve lied to me, told me what to do, and then called me by my first name!” Graves feigned disappointment with a shake of his head. “I wonder how many strikes you’ve earned.”  
  
So they were playing that sort of game, again?  Credence sat his mug on the tall table near his chair and shook the arms of the sweater to free his fingers from the over-long sleeves.  “Penance, then? What am I? Parishioner? Your son?  Oh, oooh… employee?”  
  
Graves seemed to contemplate the first two and outright shook his head at the last. “I wouldn’t spank an employee!”  
  
“If I worked with you, you would,” Credence said. He watched Graves shrug at that. Credence liked the idea and wanted to convince Graves. “Imagine we’re in your office… on your desk… another MACUSA employee might walk in at any given moment…”  
  
Graves pushed himself up to stand. There was no way to hide his own arousal and Credence eyed the line of his cock beneath the cotton pants with longing. 

“Hmmm… Honestly, work is the last thing I want to think about, right now.  What about my student? You’re on an armchair in our common room. Anyone could walk in at any moment, but they’re all at some fun event and you’re in detention.”

Credence immediately liked the idea more than his own but pretended to consider it. Instead of speaking his consent, since he so rarely did, he simply turned around in the chair and threw his arms over the back of it.  With his knees in the seat, he was bent at the perfect angle for Graves to reach.  After all, the man wouldn’t spread him over his lap with both their cocks already hardening.  The friction always made them impatient and this was something Graves knew Credence wanted time to enjoy.  
  
“Titles, boy?”  
  
“Sir. Professor. Mister Graves. Professor Graves.”  
  
“Safe word?”  
  
Credence immediately chuckled. “Oh, come on”

“Incorrect, Credence.”

Credence snorted.

With a sigh, Graves left the room to find a few items.  Instructed Credence that they wouldn’t start until he’d reiterated their safe word.  Credence wondered if the man did this to embarrass him or if it was actually necessary.  
  
When Graves made it back to the room, just to be obnoxious, Credence yelled it. “NIFFLER HORDE!!!”  
  
Percival flinched slightly and then gave Credence a serious look. Sarcastically, he met the boy’s eye and said “Charming.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” Credence smiled at him.  A shit-eating sort of grin that Graves could only roll his eyes at.

“I’m going to deduct points for that.”

“Thank you, professor.”

“Put your knees near the edge of the chair, boy.”

Silently, Graves worked, without magic, to remove Credence’s sweater and tie his limbs together.  Scarves looping underneath the chair, he tied one to his left wrist and then left ankle and used the other to do similar on the right side.  The short length of both garments helped the boy stay in position.  He couldn’t pull too much on one end because the other end would get yanked uncomfortably.  
  
“What do schools usually have laying around…?” Graves asked as he held a belt in his hand.  They’d only gotten to a point, in recent months, where the boy would request leather.  Graves still felt guilty inflicting that particular pain upon him, though.  Any and all reminders of Mary Lou had once dampened both of their moods rather quickly.  They'd learned to heal, together.  
  
“Bibles?”  
  
“Normal schools, Credence.”

“I didn’t attend a normal school,” Credence huffed.  His nipples were hardening and, if they were playing a different type of game he would have begged Percival to suck them.  “A ruler?”  
  
Without a word, Graves transfigured the belt into a yardstick. It was about a half-inch thick and likely to break, but he tested it, anyway.  Standing to the side of the armchair and with a wider stance than necessary, Graves lifted the ruler in his right hand and swung down, quickly, to connect with his boyfriend’s bottom.  As expected, the stick snapped in two and half of it turned back into leather as it flew into their fireplace.  
  
Despite the drama of having a slat of wood broken over his ass, Credence merely yelped in surprise.  Enjoying the stinging burn of the blow and splintered scratch of the break.  

Graves had healed all the scars of his childhood, ages ago, and Credence joyfully anticipated having more.  Ones he’d associate with bedroom play instead of his past.

With the yard-stick repaired, Graves slid his hand about halfway up the stick.  With a few test swings that softly plopped against the boy’s cheeks, Graves was ready to start, again.  
  
“How many infractions did I list, earlier?”  
  
“Three.”  
  
“Three!?”  
  
“Four?”  
  
“Are you trying to trick me into giving you an easier punishment?”  
  
“Oh, no sir, Professor Graves. I always like it hard,” To emphasize his approval, Credence wiggled his bottom. and turned his head as much as he could to the left.  He wanted to see the man standing topless and erect beside their chair. What his eyes found was a fully dressed Ilvermony professor at his side. 

Credence nearly scoffed. How like Graves to transfigure a relevant outfit.  Credence silently thanked whatever gods would listen, that he could still see the outline of Graves’s cock beneath the well-fitted black slacks.  Without complaint, Credence sighed and turned his head to face the back of the chair, again.  
  
“Five infractions… 10 blows.  Count, Mr. Barebone.”  
  
The ruler hit the side of Credence’s right hip.  The impact immediately deep and hot.  That would definitely leave a welt. He shouted out the number two knowing full well that Graves would correct him about it being the first -real- strike and then start over with strike one on his left hip for emphasis.  
  
Credence was too bony for the man to hit him anywhere near his pelvis without bruising and the welts immediately started to darken and swell.  Though Graves was usually more gentle, to begin with, he knew these were Credence’s favorite. The boy liked to stand in the mirror, afterward and dig his fingers into the purpling flesh.  
  
Crying out, Credence’s voice sounded immediately ecstatic. He practically moaned out the number three as a low strike spanning both asscheeks sent his body rocking forward.

"Your academic record is acceptable, Barebone.  However, your cock-hungry behavior needs some improvement.  Naughty boys who cream their trousers during class must be dealt with," Graves scolded.  Credence loved this tone of voice.  Not yelling, but strong and reprimanding.  Whenever he overheard Graves talking to anyone else that way, his cock immediately hardened.   
  
Credence's cock was fully hard and dangled between his spread thighs. A string of glistening precum dripping down into the embroidered fabric of Graves’s armchair.

Credence wondered if he would earn extra hits for making a mess of the man’s furniture.  The thought made him gush, more.

"I...I'm s..so sorry, Professor Graves," Credence sobbed.  The quiver in his voice part affectation and part trembling lust. "I can't help it when I look at you.  I feel so hot all over and my pants get so tight over my lap."

Blows four through eight were alternated from cheek to cheek, landing only in the softest parts.  Credence loved the sharp sting of wood racketing against fatty flesh. Often wished he’d had a soft belly for Graves to bruise and abuse.

"I'm trying to teach you, boy!" Graves found the strength to sound scandalized instead of absolutely aroused.  He palmed the front of his own trousers as he spoke to the boy. "And you're hard, again?!  Are you really such an insatiable little boy?"

Strike nine, the 'professor' landed against the top of Credence’s left thigh.  The boy hissed in reaction and jerked forward in the chair.  Graves stood by, waiting for Credence to assume the position he’d placed him in.

Minutes passed and Credence was still folded in on himself, cursing under his breath at the pain.  
  
“Anything to say, Credence?” Graves asked.  His voice gentle despite his desire to stay in character for Credence’s sake. “I’ll never judge you for it…”  
  
“No, sir,” Credence said.  Breathing in heavily as his mind scrambled to process the pain. Make it pleasure.

His thighs were thin. Not as firm as most boys. Not as soft as most girls.  There was really nothing there to absorb the shock of the blow. So many nerve endings but not a lot of padding.

His lack of muscle also meant that the blow had stung an ungodly amount. More like a slice than a hit. He wouldn’t be surprised if the deep burgundy welts of his abused bottom were vividly outshone by a bright red one on his upper thigh. The skin felt shallow.  The pain fresh and cutting like the sting of leather or even a knife.

He could hear Graves breathe in deeply just before the ruler struck him, again.  Another pleasurable knock against his right hip.  A good balance for what would, no-doubt, be an annoying injury on his left leg.

The man could heal him, near instantly. Credence had never let him.  Wouldn’t let him, this time. Graves stepped out of the room and Credence flexed his cock to enjoy the sensation. The pain of the spanking thrummed along his hips and backside. Making his cock leak, more.

When his “professor” returned with salve, Credence turned to look at him over his shoulder. Asked him not to apply it. Not even to his blistered thigh.

After all, the best parts of any spanking were the hours of pain that followed.

Graves walked over, sliding a hand up Credence's prominent spine to then curl around the back of his neck.  A softer version of a dominant gesture.  "Well, how will you attend my class if this punishment prevents you from taking your seat?"

Credence cooed at the firm hand grounding his body and smiled to himself. "I'd imagine my professor's lap is a great deal softer than my wooden bench."

Graves chuckled.  His fingers sliding up into his lover's hair. "Hint taken.  Merry Christmas, dear."

Credence moaned at the nails gently scratching against the back of his head.  Turned so that the fingers went higher up and caressed his crown.  "Merry Christmas, Per... Mister Graves."

"Good boy."


End file.
